


Drop the last year

by Ren



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Arthur and Eames had been the ones who got stuck in limbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop the last year

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mission 7.4 ("old age") of the Clash of the Writing Titans @ [](http://maridichallenge.livejournal.com/profile)[**maridichallenge**](http://maridichallenge.livejournal.com/). Though I actually started writing this for the previous week and the prompt "city". Title from a quote by Brooks Atkinson: _Drop the last year into the silent limbo of the past. Let it go, for it was imperfect, and thank God that it can go._

"So," Eames says after a while. "That didn't go as planned, did it?"

Arthur glares at him and refrains from punching him on the nose. _Not as planned_ is a gross understatement of the trouble they are in.

"It's not that bad," Eames continues, as if reading Arthur's mind. "At least we, uh, we're..."

He gestures at their surroundings, some kind of gray emptiness. Arthur just stares and manages, just barely, not to roll his eyes. The sentiment probably gets across all the same, because Eames shrugs and gives up trying to find the silver lining of a situation that has no silver lining whatsoever.

"All right, this sucks," he says.

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. "Let's hope the others get us out of here soon," he says.

The murderous feelings go away for a full ten seconds. Then Eames winks at him. "On the bright side, darling, you've got me."

It's going to be a long wait.

\---

In this place, it's hard to tell how much time has passed. Arthur is wearing a watch, of course, a very nice model that would easily cost several thousand dollars in the real world. In the dreamspace, it's completely useless. Arthur keeps looking at it, even though every time the hands are in a different position, going from six o'clock to half past three to midnight without any discernible pattern.

It's not as if there's anything else to stare at.

\---

After what feels like an eternity, Eames says, "We could try building a city."

Arthur stares at him, because this isn't the first time he's heard Eames voice some inane idea, but it's the first time Eames has suggested something crazy on such a large scale.

"A city," he repeats. Eames grins and nods, cracking his knuckles and looking around with a determined air. "I've never built as much as a treehouse in a dream," Arthur points out. "And neither have you. What makes you think we'll be able to do anything but a mess?"

"The way I see it," Eames replies, "anything is better than nothing. Besides, even if we get it wrong the first time, we've got plenty of time to practice."

\---

The first time, they get it wrong. But they do have plenty of time to practice.

Neither of them was cut to be an architect. Eames is better at changing his own appearance than at creating buildings. Arthur keeps forgetting not to recreate things from his memory. And neither of them can agree on what exactly they're trying to build. It doesn't look like anything that could possibly exist in the real world, but in the end they do build a city.

\---

Eames steps down from a carousel that seems to be straight out of a cubists's nightmare and into a bad replica of a Parisian street. Arthur almost didn't notice that he was rebuilding the same place where he lived for some time, the first time he came to Europe. He's tried to hide it by adding some sculptures and trees that have nothing to do with France at all, but it's a rushed job and he's sure Eames can tell.

However, Eames doesn't comment on it.

"This is nice," he says instead, taking Arthur's arm under his own.

There's something contagious in his grin and Arthur forgets that he's supposed to be angry at Eames because it's his fault that they're here in the first place. It's not so bad here, even if Arthur is not sure anymore of what _here_ is.

He returns Eames's grin.

\---

It gets increasingly hard to remember that this is a dream and that they're trapped.

Sometimes, late at night when he can't sleep and he's staring at the ceiling and listening to Eames's quiet snore, Arthur thinks about leaving. He's not sure why he would ever want to leave the city that they built together, to leave Eames, but he seems to remember that they were waiting for something. He just can't remember what, and it drives him mad.

But, after all, Arthur thinks it's inevitable to become forgetful in his old age.

\---

Keeping track of time is impossible, but Arthur has a fondness for keeping track of things. He keeps a careful tally in his head. How many buildings there are, how many trees, how many lines around his eyes, how many pet names Eames made up today before breakfast.

He feigns annoyance when Eames steals the last piece of toast from his plate, but he doesn't really mind. It's been a long time, years if the white hair on his head are any indication, and Arthur is used to it.

"I was thinking," Eames says as they're collecting the empty plates from the table. "Don't you ever get the feeling that something is missing?"

"Something missing?" echoes Arthur. "As in?"

Eames shrugs. "It's just a feeling I have," he says.

Arthur doesn't want to dwell on it. He's thought about it, but he'll never admit that sometimes his life feels unreal. That would mean that everything he had together with Eames would be unreal, and Arthur doesn't want that life to be a lie. It's real to him.

\---

They're on the roof together, watching the endless sprawl of the city under them.

It's been a while since the last time they've been here. Lately it's become difficult to climb that many steps, even when they're leaning against each other for support.

Arthur is about to ask Eames about creating an elevator when Eames hugs him.

"Do you trust me?" he asks.

It's strange of him to ask like that, out of the blue, but Arthur nods. "Of course I do," he says. "Is everything okay?" he adds, because there's something strange in Eames's eyes.

He shrugs, still holding on to Arthur. "It will be okay," he replies. "Soon."

It sounds like a promise. Then he steps off the edge.

\---

Waking up is almost physically painful. Too much light, noises from the street outside, cramps in his muscles.

Eames is staring at Arthur, blinking slowly and looking impossibly young. Arthur glances at his own hands, touches his face experimentally.

"We made it," Eames croaks. "I knew it was a dream! I knew it."

Arthur flinches at the tone of triumph in his words. "Why?" he asks. Eames stares back blankly and it makes Arthur even more mad. "Why did you wake us up?" he insists, almost in a whine.

"I'm sorry for not telling you anything before jumping," Eames says. "But it was only a dream."

"It was our dream!" he exclaims. He takes his totem from his pocket and twirls it in his fingers, willing it to fall on the right side. It doesn't, and Arthur's fingers begin to shake. "We grew old together. Doesn't that make anything to you?"

He jumps when Eames takes his hand into his own. "Of course it does, darling," Eames says. "I just wanted to grow old in the real world too."

\---

Sometimes, Arthur still has doubts on whether this world is real or just a dream. But as long as he can hold on to Eames, it doesn't matter.


End file.
